


the moon that breaks the night

by cerie



Series: Howl [1]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Legends, Werewolf, loup garou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will uses his last moments of sanity to try and remember that voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the moon that breaks the night

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Alternate Universe take on Sanctuary For All, wherein Will is a [loup garou](http://www.mythicalcreaturesguide.com/page/Loup+Garou) with a few changes for my own artistic purposes. Written for Halloween 2012 for Lisa, Sam and all my Helen/Will ladies.

_A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night  
May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright_

\- Florence + The Machine, "Howl."

***

That _scent_. Will isn’t sure where he goes when he shifts but the scent’s always in his nose when he wakes, something sweet like flowers with a bite underneath like roses and steel. It’s maddening and he can’t get it out of his head and, worse, he can’t find it when he’s himself again. He’s managed to track it down to the east side of town, down near the river, and that’s as much as he knows.

Will’s been in Old City since he was a kid and drifted from one packmate to another after hunters killed his mom and the only constant is the scent and the feeling of _sanctuary_ whenever he shifts. Unlike other weres he’s known, he’s never taken a life, and he knows it has something to do with the smell.

The full moon is tonight and his nose is keener than than usual. He’s close. He’s so close. There’s a stately old mansion on the river with sprawling grounds and Will hasn’t ever had the opportunity to explore it. He’s asked about it around the precinct and it’s some kind of private research facility, off-limits, and nobody seems to question it. The smell is here too, carried on a cool autumn breeze, and Will is tempted to follow it and find the source when he feels the cold shiver down his spine that means the change is close. This is no good. 

He usually tries to get to the woods before he gets this close and this area is entirely too populated. The wind shifts and he doesn’t smell rose and steel anymore, he smells the must of rain and autumn leaves and it’s _close_ , too close.

Shit.

It’s always painful when he shifts, bones snapping and reforming and limbs going from long and lean to compact and powerful. He’s a pure were, inherited, and his shift looks more like a real wolf than some of the other poor souls he’s seen. His eyes, though, are entirely human and still soft and blue; Will caught sight of them once in a cool, clear pool before being overtaken by rose and steel again.

This time is painful too and he howls right on the front lawn of that stately old house, both as a cry to his packmates and a warning for humans to _stay clear._ They seem to listen, except one, because he’s lost to rose and steel again.

“Oh, darling, you don’t usually come quite so early. I wasn’t ready yet.”

Will uses his last moments of sanity to try and remember that voice.

***

“So I guess the Wolfman is back, huh?”

Helen spins in her chair and narrows her eyes at Ashley, face pinched and voice set to match. She’s never liked the cavalier attitude her daughter can sometimes take to their work and their unregistered loup garou is high on the list. He’s been coming to Helen in some way or another since he was a boy and first changed, long ago, and considering loup garou achieve virtual immortality at sexual maturity, he will be coming to her for a while yet. She still doesn’t know who he is in his daily life and it puzzles her; Helen likes to keep track of the more dangerous Abnormals in her area and loup garou are among the deadliest.

“He is a loup garou, Ashley, an intelligent and beautiful creature. He’s never drawn human blood. Do you want to know how I can tell?”

In this, at least, Ashley seems primed and at attention and the flippant tone is replaced with keen interest. At least in this, she can be her mother’s child even if John comes through more and more every day. Helen hopes that she won’t lose Ashley to the madness as well, that she’ll be safe and that her genes will temper Druitt’s. It may be a idle hope, but it’s the best she has. She stands and crosses the room to an elaborate silver cage where, inside, a sandy brown wolf is pacing in close little circles. He’s agitated, but not acting out, and when Helen approaches his hackles lower and he lays down, muzzle on his paws in submission. He gives a low, plaintive whine.

“Look at his eyes, Ashley. What color are they?” When Ashley supplies an answer (Blue, Mom, honestly), Helen smiles a bit. “Precisely. Our loup garou still has his human eyes and, furthermore, some semblance of his sanity while shifted. If he’d tasted human blood before, he wouldn’t, and I would be in quite a lot of danger. As it is, I’m only in a moderate amount.”

She slides her hand between the bars of the cage and turns it palm up, a gesture of goodwill and trust. Her loup garou has been coming to her for decades and nuzzles her palm, as content as he can be while caged in silver. Ashley seems disinterested and announces she’s going out for Halloween and Helen nods her consent. It’s safe enough to go out with this many humans out after dark; the Abnormals will be far, far away. Still, there’s a familiar exchange of “stay safe,” and “always,” before she takes her leave.

“I suppose it’s just you and I, old friend. Constant as the moon, aren’t you? Shakespeare had it entirely wrong. The moon is your only constant, I suppose, outside of me?”

Helen can’t imagine the desperation of being trapped when everything in your blood sings to be free. Her loup garou is stronger than she’ll ever be.

***

Will only has the most basic thoughts when he’s shifted, impressions and sensations more than actual cognitive processes, and his only drive is to be _free_. The woman has gone and left him in his prison and while the silver burns, he has enough fear and desperation to slam his shoulder against the gate over and over until it bends and eventually breaks. Once he’s free, he licks at the wound to soothe it, whining when he hears the hiss and feels the sizzle of his silver-burned flesh. Silver is the only thing that wounds him permanently and this is deep.

He needs to find the roses again, the roses he knows are associated with _her_ , and his nose doesn’t fail him. He smells her everywhere in this house but there’s distinct paths, places she often goes, and the strongest concentration of scent goes up the stairs into a little tower and it’s easy to follow it. 

The room is large, dominated by a bed and surrounded by candelabras (more silver, no thanks) with dozens of flickering candles. She’s there, hair loose and a silk robe slipping from one shoulder and it’s more rose and steel than he’s ever smelled in his entire life. It’s intoxicating, like Dorothy in the poppy field, and Will does the only thing he thinks he can do: jumps on the bed and tries to get as close to that smell as he can.

***

Helen had decided to tuck in early when Ashley went out and was absently pursuing a book when the loup garou had barreled into her room and onto the bed. She isn’t often afraid but in this, she was paralyzed by fear; one bite, and she could die or, worse, be changed herself. She’s shocked when he goes for her throat, he’s always so docile, and shocked further when he simply _inhales_ and buries his muzzle in her hair. Her fingertips are gentle when she touches his fur and when she presses lightly at the edges of a wound that must surely be caused by silver, he whines and presses closer.

“You poor thing. I suppose this is reckless of me, but you clearly want to be here more than anywhere else. This is the calmest I’ve ever seen you, injury aside. You may stay, then.”

The wind is whistling outside, sharp knives in an unseasonably-cold night, and Helen finds that she’s actually glad for the extra warmth as she curls around the wolf and slides her fingers into his soft fur. It’s quite possibly the stupidest thing she’s ever done, aside from injecting Source blood, that is.

Nobody ever profited from being _cautious._

***

When Will wakes, he knows that he’s Will again because he’s ridden by two incredibly keen thoughts. First, his shoulder hurts like a _bitch_ and second, he’s impossibly hard. He blinks awake slowly to find that he’s in a bed, soft and with sheets that feel so decadent that he feels really shitty about bleeding all over them and he’s pressed against a soft, curvy woman with dark hair.

And the _smell_. His smell isn’t as keen in human form as it is when he’s a wolf but he knows this smell. This is his smell, his sanctuary, and he’s finally found it. It makes him giddy and, on the morning after a full moon, his inhibitions are lowered enough that he buries his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder and just inhales. Then, encouraged that she hasn’t stirred awake, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh and licks it to soothe it.

 _Mine_ , he thinks, and his hands roam over her on instinct while he drives his hips against her from behind.

“Bloody hell!”

Will freezes, mortified, and backs up enough that the woman has enough space to turn over. She does and he’s greeted with his first real look at her: long, dark curls with big blue eyes and a full, pouty mouth. Her eyelashes are so long that when she closes her eyes, they seem almost fake. He’s never met her as a human before and, weirdly, even though he doesn’t know her name he still feels like he knows her and that she’s his. She’s always been his.

“Sorry, you startled me, something you’ve proven admirable at over the past few hours. I should have known you would have that response. The male loup garou often spends the few days surrounding the full moon in rut. Considering you’ve been coming to me for years and years...”

Her voice trails off and a blush rises on her cheeks. Will looks down to realize that he’s managed to press up against her again and he’s hot and hard against the soft skin of her thigh where its bare beneath the robe. He jerks his hips back; even if it’s a natural response, this isn’t the kind of man he is or the kind of man he wants to be. 

“...it’s not surprising you would consider me your territory or possession, like a favorite toy.”

Will shakes his head. That’s not how he feels about her at all. It’s something deeper than that, deeper than a hunting ground or a bone. She’s _his_ , primal, and he doesn’t know how to put that into words. He lifts his hand and cups her cheek, smiles when she turns her face and presses a kiss against his palm. It seems his overtures are welcome even though this is their first real meeting.

“No. You’re mine. My sanctuary.”

A blush blooms against her cheeks and Will closes the distance between them, mouth crushing against hers.

***

This is hardly as reckless as sleeping in bed with a fully-shifted loup garou but Helen feels a little dangerous anyway. His hands are trembling as they pull the robe away and find her bare flesh. His fingers are excessively clever, tweaking one nipple as he lowers his mouth to the other, sucking it to a hard peak before tugging lightly with his teeth. He shifts to the other breast to give it the same treatment even as he’s lifting her thigh to hook it over his hip, bringing her close to flush with him.

Helen tips her head back in pleasure and cries out, slick between her thighs and worked up because his own desire just seems so great. She’s never been with a partner who is as obsessed as her loup garou and just when she thinks he’s going to slide into her and make the connection complete, he pulls away and slides his mouth in a maddeningly-slow path between her breasts, down her stomach and over each hip in turn.

When he slides his hands beneath her bottom and hikes her up so he can bury his face between her thighs, Helen vaguely recalls that loup garou also have a heightened sense of taste and smell that only gets worse around the full moon. Soon enough, she’s the one whimpering when he slides his tongue between her folds and takes his time learning her, gauging every reaction.

She’s careful to only claw at his uninjured shoulder when she comes, the scream ripped from her throat every bit as primal as the howl he’d let out the night before.

Once she falls back to herself, she realizes he’s still nuzzling at her and she lets her fingers drift through his sweat-damp hair, comforting him in some strange sort of biofeedback loop. He shifts and tugs her to her hands and knees and Helen knows, instantly, that she wants this. Her thighs part and he slides into her from behind, one hand at her hip and the other cupping a breast.

When his thrusts start to get erratic, Helen knows he’s close and she rocks forward a little, taking him in deep. She feels a sharp burst of pain when his teeth sink into her shoulder as he hits home one more time and Helen thinks the pain might linger for a few days.

_Mine._

She’s not entirely sure if it’s her thought or he said it aloud but she’s content with it all the same. “Yours,” she whispers, a smile curving her lips. “My name is Helen.”

His response is just as soft: Will.

***

_One Month Later_

Will knows where she is now and so he goes to her house, aptly named Sanctuary, well before sundown and any chance that he’s going to change. The door is opened by a butler that looks like Bigfoot and while he’s taken aback, it’s not all that weird in the grand scheme of things. The big guy cuffs him around the ears and instructs him that Helen is upstairs, waiting on him, and he should go up.

Will does as he’s told and when he reaches the tower bedroom, he knocks lightly on the door before pushing it in. What he sees is...probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. Helen is sprawled against the bed wearing a corset and robe made of sapphire blue silk and nestled against her throat is something that glints in the low light. Upon closer inspection, it’s a silver cross set with sapphires and Will cocks his head, intrigued.

“Worried I’m gonna rip your throat out? Can’t believe you don’t trust me. We’ve been doing this for years, in a way.”

Helen laughs and crosses the room, heels clicking against the marble floors. In heels, she’s his height, and she brushes her lips against his cheek before moving closer to his ear to whisper. Her voice is low and warm and it’s in sharp contrast to the cold burn of the cross where it presses against his skin.

“Insurance. You have such a good track record, my darling, and I would hate to spoil it because I tempted you. I trust you.”

Will wraps his arm around her and tugs her close, ignoring the burn in favor of paradise.

“I always have.”

**Author's Note:**

> The loup garou, as defined for this fic universe, is as follows:
> 
> 1\. Inherited or caused by a bite. Inheritance causes a pure shift from man to wolf and bite is only a partial transformation, ala the Wolfman or the wolves on Teen Wolf.
> 
> 2\. The loup garou is vulnerable to silver, preferably the older the better, and silver inherited from a loved one is the deadliest. The necklace Helen wears in the last scene was her mother's.
> 
> 3\. Will was found by Helen on the night of his first shift and imprinted on her, which explains his strong connection and physical attraction to her.


End file.
